


Turf War

by LightNephilim



Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, High School, Monster Slaying, Rivalry, Training, characters are like 18ish, i dunno, main characters have serious issues with pride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-11-13 18:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightNephilim/pseuds/LightNephilim
Summary: In the monster-filled New World, every student must join one of two weapon factions.The first faction is the Guardians, a group built around weapons which defend and support others in battle. The second faction is the Bloodhounds, a group built around weapons which encourage pure power and aggression. Naturally, rivalry runs rampant between the two groups--especially at the Hunters Academy, a monster-slaying high school.So when Nova, a lance-using Guardian, runs into Red, a Bloodhound dual-blades user, it doesn't turn out well.1. Both think they're going to be the world's next hero.2. Each wants the other to eat Rathalos dung.3. The Hunters Academy "just isn't big enough for the two of them."Let the games begin...





	1. An Idiotic Life-or-Death Experience

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here because I love monsters and writing. Hopefully, I can use this fic to /actually/ write instead of just daydreaming about ideas. This is my first written work on here, so I hope you enjoy my adventure.
> 
> Soundtrack to begin:  
> Blinded By Light (Final Fantasy XIII)-- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IvohXgIKTgU&t=1s  
> Soundtrack after the fight:  
> The Road of Trials (Journey)-- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhFL96Yl0bw
> 
> Main monster:  
> Anjanath-- https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fd/ae/2f/fdae2f97a2595a45aedf867f82781239.jpg
> 
> Good luck out there!

NOVA’S P.O.V.

“Please, please, please--” 

Nova drops down onto her butt, hard, and starts sliding down the muddy slope. Somewhere behind her, the bellow of a huge beast echoes off the trees. The shadow of branches fly past underneath; the lance and shield on her back scrapes gouges into the soft earth. She throws a glance over her shoulder. 

A steady mantra goes through her head, matching the pace of her out-of-control heartbeat:  _ idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot.  _ Another triple-toned roar, much closer. The sound of a hollow trunk splintering. Way too close.  _ What was I thinking?  _

As the slope ends, Nova uses her momentum to spin off the path, falling even deeper into the web of roots. Her feet sink slightly into the wet ground when she lands, and then she breaks into a run. Unfortunately, Nova knows exactly what she was thinking. It was something idiotic, something along the lines of:  _ You think I’m like the other Guardians? I’m not. _

The dark path narrows, tightens, becoming a tunnel. Huge roots weave themselves into walls on either side, gaps packed with decomposing leaves. The air smells dank, like rotting mushrooms, but at least she’s somewhere with a low ceiling. Too low for anything bigger than her, she hopes.

“I’m not dying over this,” Nova mutters. 

A face flashes in her mind, red hair framing a cocky little smile. 

“So--stupid,” she says, gritting her teeth. 

Yes, Nova was here--chased by a massive monster, risking her neck, nearly dying--all because of a taunt. That spoiled brat had baited her, simple as that.

In front of Nova, her glowflies start to appear again, meaning she’s put herself a good distance from danger. They hover a few feet down the musty passage, casting a neon glow on the soil. She sighs, slowing to a jog.  _ Finally, I can catch a break-- _

A huge thud sends leaves spiraling down from the ceiling. Nova freezes. Another thud, this time bringing a shower of soil. Through the small spaces in the roots above, she sees a shifting shadow: a large snout, snuffling at the gap. Two more heavy footsteps from above, then nothing. The snout retreats.

Eyes still on the ceiling, she walks backwards down the tunnel. A horrible feeling of dread sits heavily in her stomach like an undigested fish head. It’s scarier when you can’t see them--much scarier. You really start to feel pathetic, powerless, like a mouse in a hole. 

Nova takes a few more steps and the tunnel widens into a giant space. The floor is covered with thick grass and the walls go up hundred of feet, arching into a magnificent cathedral of… bark? 

“Whoa.” 

She’d never been inside the Ancient Tree before. Sunlight shines through a large patch of thinning bark directly above the tunnel, creating a warm, faded glow throughout the clearing. The grass under her feet bursts with yellow wildflowers. At the top of the tree’s heart, she can just barely see a group of sapphire-blue Mernos flapping around.  _ Maybe it wasn’t so bad to come here alone, after all. _

Nova’s glowflies flash red and scatter.

The field of flowers has gone dark; something is blocking the sun. She turns slowly to see a giant black shadow hovering against the wall above, outlined in dreadful clarity. She falls onto her back, heart racing.  _ It can’t see me, not through the bark.  _ The silhouetted monster’s head turns, listening… listening… Her breathing is irregular and choppy, but quiet. After a moment, she feels sunlight on her face again.

A small noise comes from Nova’s left, followed by crunching leaves. She turns to see a Mosswine snuffling the mushrooms with its chubby pig nose, totally oblivious to the imminent danger. 

“You’re dead, too,” she hisses, and then the entire wall shatters.

An Anjanath, nose flared and flames dripping from between its teeth, lands across the room. The whole tree shakes with the impact. The Mosswine scurries for a burrow. Nova staggers to her feet, drawing the lance and shield from her back. 

“Alright, come get it!” she snarls.

The body-sized shield, which she’d complained about so often during stamina training, shines dully in the light streaming from the broken wall. Her lance, more than five feet long, looks like a toothpick compared to this beast across from her.  Cheap gear from the Academy, just loaned out for the day.  _ Needed these for a friendly duel :) _ is what she wrote on the sign-out sheet.

The Anjanath huffs and little embers twist towards to the ground. The tunnel--her escape tunnel--is right between its tree-trunk legs. Could she slide under and reach it…?

“No,” Nova mutters. “I can kill.”

She’s looking into the Anjanath’s eyes and for a moment, she believes herself. Then it’s charging, snout lowered and teeth bared, and her mind flattens; she drops to one knee and locks her shield arm into a sharp 90 degree angle, summoning the blue aura of a Power Guard. The beast hits Nova with its full weight and she slides back several feet, barely keeping her footing. She has no breath left in her lungs, but she turns and strikes the Anjanath’s belly with three high-reaching blows. 

The point of her lance pierces the tightly-meshed scales, and the Anjanath turns in an instant, snapping at her with manic anger. Nova raises her shield and the huge teeth drag across it, sending a terrible screeching straight through her skull. The monster bites again, tearing at the shield, and her feet slip against the grass. Sparks fly from the beast’s mouth and burn holes where they land on her leather gloves. The steam coming from its nose envelops her, making the metal grip of the lance slick in her hand.

Gritting her teeth, Nova pulls the lance back and cocks into position for a Counter Strike, just as the Anjanath lunges a third time; right as the beast’s head hits her shield, she drives her lance into its head with incredible fury. The silver tip splits the red-tinged flesh and the Anjanath staggers backwards, tail thrashing back and forth. Nova grins, feeling a rush of satisfaction. A tiny stream of flame gushes from the underside of its jaw like a leaky pipe.

_ Wait, what had the Admiral told us about the throat? _ Vaguely, she’s able to recall seeing a crappy picture of an Anjanath drawn on a chalkboard, with excitedly-scrawled arrows pointing at its neck.  _ An… explosion? _

The Anjanath watches her coldly, then a wave of red rushes up it neck.  _ Uh oh. _ It opens its jaws, unleashing a bolt of flame in Nova’s direction. She drops behind her shield, but without a Power Guard prepared she’s blown off her feet. She feels the pain instantly--a stabbing wrongness everywhere at once. The flames flicker over her armored skin, biting and burning. A strange whining noise builds in her throat as she struggles to breathe. 

The Anjanath paces towards Nova slowly, recognizing her paralysis. And suddenly she’s afraid. The monster lowers its head. Although the flames on her body are dying out, the heat emanating from its partially-opened mouth is overwhelming. Nova’s eyes flutter open and closed, capturing the approach of the beast in frame by deadly frame, until she feels the snout pressed against her side, nosing her over.

A second wave of adrenaline comes with the touch. Nova reaches under her leg and grasps the carving knife there. The movement makes the Anjanath’s sunken eye flare. It lashes out, sinking two of its greatsword-sized teeth into her left leg, shattering the bone with a wet snap. As it takes a mouthful, she drives the dagger into the puncture in its neck and yanks, pulling through the scales and towards her body in a clean cut. 

Red bursts across her vision. Blood and flame unfurl like one billowing cloud.  The Anjanath recoils, head flying back in a massic arc as though she’d just doled out a knockout uppercut. It hits the ground hard enough to make Nova’s teeth shake.

She eases up onto one leg. The monster writhes on the ground beside her, helpless. Her hand twitches towards her lance and shield, cast at her feet.  _ A few clean strikes through the flesh of its belly--it couldn’t hurt.  _ Thankfully, another little voice in the front of her head says  _ You’ll probably die, though.  _ Right. Nova picks up the weapons and sheathes them on her back

She rummages through the few bottles she has strapped to her waist, pulling the cork out of the smallest and chugging the thick liquid inside. Her leg itches like crazy as the muscles and bones rework themselves, but the relief is immediate. _ I can see how people get addicted to this stuff. _ Nova puts weight on the leg- _ -good _ \--and sets off through the musty tunnel.

The glowflies come back after a while, and she eyes them with some exasperation.

“Thanks guys. You’re so great when I’m in a  _ life-threatening situation _ .”

Nova pulls herself up a vine and onto the netting above, grunting.

“Wish I could just disperse into an invisible cloud when I get scared.”

Of course the bugs say nothing. They wait politely for her at the bottom of the next slope.

A Great Jagras hulks past in the shadow of the wild jungle trees, stomach bulging and eyes half-lidded. He turns towards her and she runs by without hesitation, pushing off from a grassy rock and bounding across the final waterlogged field. Her nerves are way too exhausted to feel any twinge of fear.

Just over the next crest is base camp. She stumbles up to the Handler, who sits primly on a bench by the campfire. When she sees Nova, her mouth drops into a little ‘o.’

“I need a Palico cart immediately,” she says, brushing her hands off on her pants and trying desperately to look official.

“Your… your ponytail is smoking,” the Handler says faintly. 

Nova pinches at her hair and manages a smile.

“There was an incident. It’s taken care of.”

The Handler, face stretched into a pained smile, rings the small bell on the table beside her. It’s bronze, with a top carved into a delicate paw. 

“Yep,” Nova says, just to fill the silence. She opens the glowfly cage on her belt, letting them fly back in. “The hunt was easier than expected.”

_ Shut up, Nova! _

“Oh? What did you hunt?” the Handler asks, idly doodling in her quest book.

_ Don’t say it! _

“An Anjanath,” she says. 

The Handler looks up and grins for real.

“That’s wonderful! And at such a young age, too!” She pauses and looks past Nova. “Did you come with a Bloodhound?”

Instant surge of anger in her stomach. 

“You think I couldn’t do it alone? You think a lance couldn’t get the job done? A Guardian couldn’t?” Nova asks viciously.

The Handler frowns.

“No, I just… it’s just… it’s typically teams who kill Anjanaths--”

“WELL NOT ME, LADY!”

Just then, two Palicos appear from the bushes, pulling a cart behind them. Nova glances at them, then back at the Handler. She’s frozen, eyes wide. The Palicos look at each other, then back at Nova.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

Then she walks over and take a seat on the cart. Slowly, the Palicos push Nova out of the clearing and down a tiny dirt path. Each bump makes the shield dig into her back.

“How long till we reach the city?” she asks.

“Forty minutes. Meownutes,” the speckled Palico says.

_ Palico puns are terrible. _


	2. The Walk of Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot we're finally back again!
> 
> Soundtrack:  
> Hunter's Hub (Monster Hunter)-- https://youtu.be/REbI4DIjhoI

NOVA'S P.O.V.

“Did you hear Hiro yesterday? About what happened with his Hunter and the Chef?”

“Mrrow, I know! If I had a Hunter, and if he said something like  _ that  _ around the Chef of all Palicos...” 

“Gives me the shivers. I’d want to take a permanent cat nap right then and there.”

Nova sits cross-legged on the cart, chin resting in her palm. The steady rocking of the cart has become lulling, and a cool shade covers the path. As the two Palicos continue to chat in whispered tones, she lets her eyes drift shut.

“I’m glad I got transferred to work the transports,” one says, voice dropping. “We don’t have to put up with those  _ Jaggies _ .

Loud shushing noises break out behind Nova, filled with laughter.

“She’s right there, Rex! You freak!”

She smiles. There's something endearing about the way these two Palicos talk. 

“It’s fine! Look, asleep.” A tiny paw bats at her ponytail. 

She’s never gotten the full story, but the Chef is some kind of Palico hero, apparently. The few times she’s eaten at the Cathouse, a group of five-or-so young Palico always stood in a circle off to one side, just staring at him as he cooked, unblinking and awed. Every so often, they shoved an unlucky cat out of the circle and towards the Chef, giggling like mad. So weird.

Heat strikes Nova’s face; she cracks one eye, holding up a hand to block the sharp sunlight. Under the cart, dirt gives way to wooden boards. 

Suddenly, the speckled Palico leaps up beside her and meows right into her face, “Meowster, we’re nearly there! Wake up!” 

The whole cart veers to one side, and the other Palico lunges to grab both push handles, wailing, “Rexxx!”

Rex stretches out luxuriously alongside Nova.

“Push me, Zene,” he says.

Zene totters, barely able to reach both handles at once. 

“Rex, please! I’m gonna fall--I can’t--” The little cat breaks into a laugh. 

“You should probably help your partner,” Nova says.

“She’s much better at pushing than me, though,” he says. “Right, Zene?”

“That’s--that’s right!” 

Zene lowers her head and pushes with all her might. Rex puts one paw in the air, egging her on.

The cart is barely moving.

“You can let me off here,” Nova says apologetically. “We’re nearly there.”

And it’s true: the city of Astera looms just a treefall away. It’s massive--built from the bones of ships and monsters, bustling with people, rising up the mountainside like the coiled carcass of some mechanical beast. Over by the docks, a trading galleon bobs in sparkling ocean waves. Past the swooping canvas roofs, a thick pillar of smoke rises to mingle with the clouds.

Zene tilts the cart forward, sliding Rex and Nova onto the wooden floor. Nova lands on her feet; Rex lounges on his stomach, mouth set in a smirk. Zene covers her face, eyes pinched into happy crescents, silently losing it.

“Will you two be okay together?” Nova finds herself asking.

Zene and Rex look at each other, then bust up laughing again.

She shakes her head, and the Palicos steady themselves enough to wish her well.

“Request us next time you need a ride, mrrow?” Rex asks, and Zene nods along.

“Will do.”

Nova wishes she had a Sushifish to tip them with, but she hasn’t eaten anywhere besides the Academy cafe for ages. Rex takes his position once again, and the two Palicos begin to push up the dirt path.

“I’m Nova, by the way!” Nova calls.

The two cats disappear into the bushes.

_ Zene and Rex… they seemed nice. _

She keeps her head down, pushing through the busy marketplace. Her rough attire, still visibly singed from the Anjanath's flames, draws less attention than she’d expect.

A twig-armed sailor actually nods at her, grinning as he hefts a large barrel onto his back. She grimaces. His misunderstanding--that she actually  _ killed _ the beast who left her like this--just reminds her of who she’ll have to face.  _ That stupid, red-haired brat. _ Her stomach twists with unease and shame.

The path dips briefly through the residential district, a maze of overturned war vessels converted into wood-and-bone huts. If Nova’s lucky, she’ll kill something big enough to pay for a life out here, one day. 

Some Hunters never look ahead; they can't even imagine themselves in a time after the fight is done. She’s realistic. Legends find rest, eventually. And they don't have to be dead for it.

She heads into the mountain's belly, following the path. Monsters stare from the walls, painted carefully by generations past. Some are faded, others glow brightly--vibrant Paolumu pinks and Teostra reds lighting her way. 

“Nova, is that you?” A voice comes from ahead, followed by a sharp ‘oof.’ “I mean, who goes there?”

A white-haired boy leans against the wooden double doors ahead, clutching his stomach with one hand. The dark-skinned girl near the other wall frowns at Nova as she approaches. 

Both students are dressed in full battle regalia--Rathalos-style--and holding insect glaives.

“Rymer,” Nova says, nodding at the boy. A smile pushes at his lips, but he gives her a formal salute.

Last quarter, the two of them had to work together on a community project, some pointless requirement. They built a Kinsect hutch for the Smithy, same as every other unoriginal student. 

Rymer and Nova clicked immediately--him knowing how to make gentle conversation, her (sort of) knowing how to put together the project.

“I didn't know the Academy let you out of your cage yet,  _ cadet _ ,” the other girl sneers, saluting.

Nova’s jaw clenches;  _ I seriously don’t want to deal with this right now. _ Evidently, her reputation had spread beyond the other first years.

“I was out doing a favor for someone...” In the dimly-lit hall, she can barely see a triple-star pin on the girl's chest. “...ma'am.” Rymer grimaces.

“Who exactly?” she asks. Her eyes are razor sharp, like a pissed-off panther.

“It was...uh…” Nova’s mind furiously cycles through a list of faces, automatically settling on one-- “Red! It was for Red.” 

The girl looks at her, searching for something, then sighs. “Just give me your card.” 

Nova pulls her Hunter card out of her thigh holster and slaps it into the girl's palm. 

Rymer mouths something to Nova, like  _ Really? It was Red? _ Trying to be inconspicuous, she slices a hand across her throat, shaking her head at him. __

After a moment:  _ You're okay?  _ He mouths, and she pretends not to see. His genuine concern leaves a sour feeling in her chest.

The girl flips the card's clasp, unspooling the paper inside. “Don't get out much, do you?” She runs her finger over the few stamps near the top.

“I haven't been paired yet,” Nova says, letting her voice drip with excessive patience. “So I'm not allowed to go hunting alone.” 

“Hmm.”

The girl hits her glaive against the ground, sending a halo of red light dispersing into the air. In response, a large, white Kinsect flutters down from the ceiling and perches on her shoulder. It rustles its furry wings.

“I need some dust, love,” the girl says softly.

The Kinsect spits, and a tiny spark of blast dust flutters into the air. She catches it on the wick of a yellow stick of wax. 

“Thanks.” The girl pinches the fleck and a small flame alights.

Nova stares at the white moth on her shoulder, gaping slightly. It’s a Pseudocath, a type of Kinsect which she’d never even seen before in person. Exceedingly rare. Hard to train. Other sentries always have the same blast bugs, like Fiddlebrixes or Bonnetfilles.

She drips the yellow wax onto the Hunter card’s  _ Return _ column, creating a matching pair with the yellow  _ Exit _ seal Nova obtained from a sentry earlier this morning. 

“What did you say your name was?” Nova asks.

“Freya,” she says. 

“Ah.” Her mouth is extremely dry. 

Freya folds up the card and holds it out.

Nova is still staring at the Pseudocath.  _ This girl must be a beast of a hunter. _ She has that super-charged feeling running through her body, a jittery adrenaline which leaves her with a fierce desire to win respect, to impress, to prove herself.

“Go on,” Freya says. 

Nova takes the card.  _ Uh oh. I’m about to say something stupid. _

“Freya, y’know…” she pauses to laugh, “This morning I was actually out--” 

Rymer steps forward and grabs Nova’s wrist with crushing pressure. 

“I’ll walk Nova in?” he asks Freya, voice hesitant despite his grip. “I think she isn’t feeling well.”

Irritated, she rips away from him. 

Freya rolls her eyes. “Sure, take her, but it’s your lunch break. Come back in twenty.”

Rymer clicks his tongue and his Culldrone flies from the shadows to land on his upper arm. The beetle’s shiny green body looks dull compared to the brilliance of Freya’s Pseudo. 

As the two push open the thick wooden door, Freya claps Nova on the shoulder.

“Hey. Word of advice,” Freya smirks, “Try not to grovel so obviously in front of us Bloodhounds, okay? I know it’s a reflex for you, but it’s kinda disgusting.” 

Hot embarrassment rushes to Nova’s face, mixed with fury. Before she can reply, Rymer pulls her through the doorway and into the daylight. He slams his back against the door, sealing the passage.

“Why?” Nova snaps, turning on him. “Why’d you do that?”

Rymer pinches his nose, sighing. 

“You made me look like a little kid, Ryme!” Nova says. “You  _ grabbed  _ me.”

With his arms crossed and eyes shut, he looks absolutely exhausted. Nova can tell she’s being ridiculous, but there’s a feverish satisfaction to her biting words, some bitter tension that wants release. 

“You shouldn’t have grabbed me.”

After a moment, his hands go up: a surrender. 

“It was an aggressive grab. I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Yeah, it was! And I don’t need you to walk me anywhere. I’m heading back to the dorm for a nap.”

Nova starts down the path, already feeling a twinge of guilt in her chest. Rymer follows, stepping quietly.

“But I think I remember,” he says, “you told me to ‘slap you’ if you ever get like that.” 

_ Oh, right. _

“I couldn’t actually slap you. Obviously. But really, I’m sorry.”

Nova waves a hand at him, dismissive.

“No worries,” she says stiffly. 

She slows down until they’re walking in step. It’s so clear that she’s in the wrong here, but Rymer has a hand on the back of his head and he won’t look at her; she can tell he wants to apologize again.  _ This guy is determined to make me feel terrible. _

Because Nova  _ had _ told him that, back when we were working together. During the project, Rymer and her spent a lot of time near the Smithy himself, and she, naturally, felt a need to brag about her crafting abilities. 

Let’s just say Nova got deep into a lot of conversations where she had no clue about anything the Smithy was describing, yet still decided to keep pretending. Afterwards, she’d lament to Rymer about how stupid she looked. 

“I don’t know why Freya said that,” Rymer says, brow furrowed. “She’s always been pretty nice to me, I guess. Sometimes too straightforward, but she would never--”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Nova says.

Rymer has no clue about any of this stuff, which is part of why she likes him. He’s so nice that he can’t even notice the world’s darkness. But the fact is, Freya’s words just scraped at the permanently-unhealed wound in Nova’s chest.  _ It hurts to carry Guardian as a name. _

“She’s a great Hunter, Nova. You’d probably get along with her.”

Rymer says it with such genuine eagerness that Nova laughs. 

“Maybe,” she says.

They’re close to the Academy’s entrance now, and to the left there’s a group of three or four students in the Bloodhound training fields out front. 

None of them have armor on, but a girl with close-cropped blue hair is wildly attempting to wield two longswords at once. The others are gathered around the Rathian training dummy she’s slashing at, laughing like crazy.

Off to the right, three students sit cross-legged in the Guardian training field, hunting horns resting across their laps. Soft notes drift in the air. With their eyes shut, they seem to be… meditating as they play? 

Nova looks away at the sight of them, hit with a wave of secondhand embarrassment.

The Hunters Academy is built like a giant circle: a colosseum in the middle, dormitories and classrooms forming the outer edges. It’s smack in the center of Astera mountain, so the only daylight comes from thousands of feet above, through a wide hole in the mountain’s top. It’s midday, and the sun beats directly overhead.

Nova and Rymer step under the Academy’s entranceway arch, and the path branches to the left and the right, curving along the outside of the central arena. Large canvas triangles stretch overhead as we walk, shading them.  Thankfully, it’s the weekend, so not many students are walking around.

There’s a familiar combination of anticipation and dread in her stomach.

“Keep an eye out for me, Ryme. Let me know if you see him,” Nova says, fiercely eyeing everyone they pass.

“Uh, who?”

She gives him a look.

“Oh, you mean Red? You still have a thing with him?” Rymer asks. 

We’re almost to the female wing of the dormitories. 

“What do you mean, thing? Yes, I’m still plagued by him,” Nova says. “It surprises me that you don’t care.”

Rymer goes wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, did something happen? I thought you met for the first time last week. With that whole arm-wrestling incident.”

“Well,  _ yes _ , I hadn’t had a class with him until this quarter, but he’s been indirectly challenging me from afar, like, since the beginning. And he’s tried to kill me before--”

Rymer reels backwards.

“Indirectly! Indirectly, he has tried to kill me,” she says quickly, gesturing towards her seared armor.

He shakes his head, letting out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“You’re usually so smart.” he says. “Then you get caught up on something like this.”

“Ouch,” Nova says, putting a hand to her chest. “That’s pretty mean for you.”

He waves a hand at the dormitory behind her. On the door, a small Azure Rathalos is painted.

“Take a nap. I’ll see you in Brute Wyverns tomorrow. Don’t forget to read the Urugaan section.”

_ Right, schoolwork. _

“Yup. See you.”

As Nova turns towards the doorway, chills ghost over the back of her neck. Out of nowhere, her heart-rate increases, rising until she hears it in her ears. Something bad is coming. Really bad.

"Yo."

_ You're kidding me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update gap--I've been family-ing during Spring Break. Not much action in this chapter (sorry), but I promise it gets spicier soon. Rymer is a wholesome kid.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll stick along for the ride!


	3. Red in the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official: I'm a really slow writer. I'm probably just speaking into the void here, but I hope you like the chapter!
> 
> Main Monster (kinda):  
> Dodogama--https://ih0.redbubble.net/image.532756205.3476/ap,550x550,16x12,1,transparent,t.u2.png
> 
> Soundtrack:  
> Outset Island (The Legend of Zelda: Windwaker)--https://youtu.be/RRUinfwAd3A

RED’S P.O.V. 

Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he had to eat breakfast with his Dad every _single_ morning; no, on top of it all, the conversation seemed to always creep towards the one subject that Red could really do without.

Red idly scrapes his knife across the egg-spattered plate, sending a chill-raising shriek through the tiny kitchen. Across the table, his Dad chews toast pertly, eyes locked on his frowning child.

“So,” he says.

_Here we go._

To anyone else, the man across from Red would seem untouchable, stooped over the wooden table, fists locked around fork and knife, sharp jaw set as though preparing for battle. Age had touched his father lightly, leaving its only traces in his whitening hair and down-turned mouth. His olive, sun-leathered skin still clung firmly to his features, and only the ghosts of wrinkles could be seen around his eyes, his furrowed brow.

To anyone else, he was The Commander, legendary leader of Astera.

Painfully persistent father, making Red eat breakfast when he didn’t even _like_ eating this early.

“So, the Huntsman told me that you haven’t yet registered with a partner. Are you forgetting the deadline?”

“I thought my private lessons with the Huntsman were called that for a reason,” Red mutters, taking a sip of cider.

His father doesn’t smile. He’s wearing his famous “you’re inadequate, but I’ll kindly make do” expression, the one that works so well on up-and-coming hunters.

“When I was your age—” _Lord, help me._ “—the Admiral and I were already hunting Tobi-Kadachis every weekend, staying sharp, fierce, always ready for the next greatest endeavor.”

His Dad’s eyes glimmer as he talks.

“The Admiral was even worse than me. He’d pull my aching body out of bed before the sun even rose, begging to head out... Now, to be clear, we didn’t fight clean or well, not by any measure, but the fire was there _._ ”

“Yeah, the _fire_ ,” Red says, mimicking his father’s soulful tone. “The _fire_. You know, the Admiral sounds great. Maybe I’ll just head over and ask him now?”

“Red—”

“Any extra Admirals you know of?”

“It isn’t my intent—”

“Could really use one.”

“Enough, Red,” his father says. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “There are plenty of reputable hunters in your class, I’m sure.”

Irritated with his old man’s lack of empathy, Red snatches his plate from the table and stands up.

“None of the other Bloodhounds can keep up with me, anyways,” he says. “What am I supposed to do?”

In a scurry of paws, Tooke, a small, black Palico, rushes into the room and stretches up for the plate.

“Let me take that, young meowster,” Tooke says.

“Oh, thanks, Tooke.” Red partially crouches as he hands over the plate, repressing the urge to pat the little cat on the head. According to his Palico History professor from last quarter, head pats are terribly demeaning.

“Find yourself a Guardian, then,” his Dad says. “Like the Admiral. Best gunlance-user I’ve seen in my life…” His eyes are fixed on some invisible, distant point, past where Red stands.

Red snorts.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

Tooke, still at Red’s side, seems to sense the growing tension in the room. He flattens his fuzzy ears and silently shuffles into the hallway.

“And why is that? Before you answer, may I remind you that you do, in fact, have to choose _someone_!”

“Just--because!” Red sputters, hands waving.

“Why must you complicate everything--”

“I get on Guardians’ nerves! They hate me. It’s like--it’s like they always take what I say the wrong way! Like, if I’m trying to ask them why they have so many pencils, they get up in my face and call me the Pencil Police, then things escalate and suddenly we’re arm-wrestling, and then when they beat me I end up saying that they’re nothing without a Bloodhound hunting beside them!”

Red stops, shoulders shaking. He’s acutely aware that he’s recalling an incident with a Guardian from his Brute Wyverns class. His Dad crosses his arms.

“That’s… oddly specific, but I do know of the misunderstandings which can arise between our factions. It’s never comfortable to be around someone who fills your weaknesses with their own strength.”

By physically biting into his tongue, Red stops himself from saying that a Guardian could never do that for him. The memory of the girl from class storming off after his comment is fresh in his mind.

“Red. Even if you’re not ready to enter a cross-faction partnership, all students need to be hunting by year's end. Which means you must find a partner. Soon,” the Commander adds, firmly. “I want you out there.”

“I do too, Dad,” Red says tiredly. _If only you knew._

His father nods after a moment, stiff, and pushes back from the table.

“Well—” he brushes his hands off, “—I’m needed at the Arena today. Special demonstration for the fourth-year engineers about heavy weaponry. The Dragonator and the pulleys.” He takes his Magda Ungulae dual blades from the counter, buckling them onto his back with efficient familiarity.

“Mmm.” Red plops back into the kitchen chair, not really listening.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Mm, maybe.”

His Dad lingers at the door, gloved fingers pressed to the frame. He sighs.

“I see great power in you, Red. I've seen it so brightly that it would feel like injustice for me to allow your lack of ambition.”

Red stares down at the table, pinned by the words.

“The Huntsman tells me you still refuse to activate Demon Mode during training. He says you have brilliant speed and reflexes, but no spirit to use them.”

Red can feel the weight of his father's gaze.

“This casual attitude has to go. I want you to understand—you owe it to the talents you've been given.”

Red feels an argument rising up his throat, but the Commander has already turned and stepped outside. The door shuts with an indisputable thud. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he runs his thumb idly along the wooden table. Tooke meanders into the room, ears twitching, and begins to clear the rest of the breakfast platters.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“This isn’t a choice, dear.”_

_The plump lady gives him a toothy smile, face twitching at the edges like it’ll crumble any second to match the steel of her eyes. Red clutches her hand, turning it a hot crimson._

_“Will you come inside with me?” he asks, looking up at her, pleading. Tears are budding in the corners of his eyes. “Please?”_

_He’s eight, and the Hall of Awakening waits beyond a faded wooden door._

_“I’m sure your father told you all about this already, dear” she says. “It’s not a test. There isn’t a wrong choice.”_

_Red’s face begins to contort, tears running freely down his cheeks._

_“I don’t wanna choose!”_

_The lady clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not a choice, hon’. You’ll see which weapons speaks to you.”_

_“I don’t wanna see!”_

_Snatching her hand from Red’s grasp, she bends with some difficulty and looks him in the eye. “Do you not want to be a hunter, then?” she asks, saccharine sweet._

_This sends him into an even louder flurry of wailing._

_“I do! I do!”_

_“Don’t you want your own weapon?”_

_“I do!”_

_“Then go inside.”_

_“I don’t wanna go inside!”_

_Red doesn’t understand the exact feeling that’s making his lungs push out breath in vicious, gasping mouthfuls, but fear tastes the closest. Fear of what will happen in that Hall, when he’s alone with the fourteen weapons of steel and bone._

_“They’ll kill me,” he sobs breathlessly, and he doesn’t think it’s true, not really, but it’s something close. “They’ll kill me when I go in.”_

_“What sort of ridiculous_ —” the lady catches herself, sighs. “ _I mean, what an imagination, little Red!”_

_She pats his mop of shoulder-length red hair._

_“Now, head on in there. Promise it won’t take more than ten minutes.”_

_Red sniffles. In front of him, the door waits, inevitable. He imagines he can feel his father’s hand on his back, pressing him forward, both comforting and insistent. He’ll have his own dual blades if he does this._

_He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand._

_He’ll have his own dual blades if he does this._

_He opens the door._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, Red probably wouldn’t say it out loud, but it’s a well-known fact that he has a fanclub.

It might’ve been unavoidable; after all, he was the Commander’s only son. For his whole life, he’d stuck out in a crowd, and the red hair certainly didn’t help. ( _Thanks, Dad, by the way. You see that your baby has red hair, you go and name him Red. Brilliant move._ ) Yes, Red had dealt with attention from strangers for a long time.

The _staring_ was the new thing.

Not the subtle, corner-of-your-eye peeking, but the laser-like, aggressive staring. Ever since his first day at the Bloodhound training fields. And silence.

Almost complete silence as he kneels in the the training field dust and scrapes a whetstone along one of his dual blades. Some students have backed off the grass completely, whispering, while others have paused mid-strike, mid-battle. Red continues to sharpen, settling into a rhythm.

Some days, when he's feeling it, the gaze of the other students is like a shot of pure adrenaline, pumped directly into his blood. He feeds off of it, delighted in it the same way he delighted in the feeling of his blades in the belly of the training wyvern.

But today, after that breakfast with his father, he can really do without the expectant eyes on his back.

Red stands and pockets the whetstone, looking across the training field at one of the Rathian-shaped, meat-filled, canvas dummies. _The spell breaks as soon as I give them a show._ Irritation flares at the thought. He flexes his hands, feeling the leather of his fingerless gloves stick slightly to the grips of the Bone Hatchets. Already he can feel the thread of strength that the dual blades sap from his limbs, steady as sand through an hourglass. He pushes that awareness to the back of his head.

Red runs. Toes digging into the rough ground, he flips both Hatchets so the blade extends from below his fists: the Shien form, a style ideal for aerial maneuvers. Six more long strides and he reaches the Rathian; everything seems to slow down, fading into a blur of sound and light. He’s already coiling his weight, letting the energy move up through his feet into his calves and thighs as leaps forward, kicking off the Rathian’s nose.

A moment of weightlessness.

Red twists in the air and with one precise, vicious motion, cleaves off the training wyvern’s head.

He lands harder than he would’ve liked, falling into a sloppy crouch with his forearms still crossed from the attack. It always frightens and amazes Red how blank his mind goes when he’s executing a maneuver like that. The Huntsman has some fancy name for it—hunter eye, eye of the beast, _something_ —but Red can’t believe it’s natural.

Finally, the voices of other students are starting to filter in around him. One group of three is laughing, giving him excited thumbs-ups as they pass by. He breathes hard, coughing wetly when he stands. But he nods at them anyway, lips bent into a smirk.

“That was beautiful, Red. But next time, leave some wyvern head for the rest of us, though, okay?” Wesley, a thick-limbed third year, claps Red on the back, grinning. He has a giant Girros Hammer slung over his shoulder. Red thinks he’s been over for dinner a few times before, and seems to recall him being reduced to a quivering wreck around his Dad.

“Give the Commander a hello from me,” Wesley adds jovially. Red wonders if he makes his voice sound that deep on purpose.

A few more Bloodhounds pass by, some which he recognizes from last quarter’s classes. Suddenly, a raucous voice pierces the air:

“You think I can manage that with two longswords? Yo, gimme your longsword, Peri!”

A girl with short, blue hair, grabs her friend’s weapon from its sheath. She mimics Red’s Shien grip, approaching another training dummy with a goofy, swaggering stride. Her two friends are cracking up as she takes several wild practice swings.

_Yeah, Dad. There sure are a Jaggi-load of reputable hunters._

He turns away from the row of dummies, annoyed at the girl, his unnecessary bitterness, and his Dad’s constantly-biting pressure.

_Can’t train like this._

Red sheathes his blades on his back and heads back towards the central Academy, welcoming the halls of the shaded outer ring. The sweat sits coldly on the back of his neck, and his breath comes too quickly, splintering as he takes it in. Some food would do him good, and he is _not_ going back home for lunch. Or dinner, for that matter. Thankfully, it’s the weekend, so not many students are walking around.

“Hey, Red!” Some boy greets him, but Red doesn’t stop walking. What, is he supposed to say hi back? It’s a stranger.

“Have a good day!” The boy calls back over his shoulder.

“Red!” Another unknown boy, earnest as a puppy.

“Hey, sup?” A fourth-year girl, feigning familiarity.

Red smiles uncomfortably, nodding.

It gets to him, these people who assume friendship before they even meet him. The Bloodhound ones, he can stomach. They usually approach like Wesley, confident in their presumption. But the Guardians… Red swears they all live in a constant state of self-conscious turbulence.

Just last week, a wispy Light Bowgun boy had tried to ask Red to come to his birthday party. Not to mention all the logical issues with that random invitation, the boy had asked him in front of _the whole class._ In practically a whisper.

Who does that? It was like a baby Dodogama making Red kick it in the head.

Up ahead, Red sees a shock of white hair: it’s Rymer, a soft-spoken kid from his Basic Weapon Care class last quarter. He looks exasperated, talking down to a shorter hunter, a brown-haired girl—

_That’s her._

Rymer begins to walk away, waving at her.

_Where did she come from? She’s been fighting? She went hunting?_

Red struggles to reconcile this image of the girl—Academy leather armor burnt and torn, streaks of dark soot and monster blood across her face—with the seething one he saw in Brute Wyverns just yesterday.

He doesn’t know her. Before the argument ( _could it be called that?_ ), she hadn’t existed. And it was true what he’d said in class, about her needing a Bloodhound to hunt.

So why was his conscience giving him a hard time?

She turns towards the girls’ dormitory and Red walks towards her, driven by a strange, sick feeling.

“Yo.” He says it lightly, noncommittally.

Yet somehow, by the time she sees him, she’s already furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be Red's P.O.V. again. It's easier to write this boy than Nova, somehow
> 
> Red's random Shien style is a real thing, I promise. Well, kinda real. It's inspired by the light saber grip from The Force Unleashed...


End file.
